


a winning hand

by shxme



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Card Games, M/M, Post Reconciliation, Smut at end, just two old men playing cards and havin a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shxme/pseuds/shxme
Summary: He's in a good mood, so Fate manages to trick him into a card game.





	a winning hand

**Author's Note:**

> i'll probably change the title, I just couldn't figure out what to call it.
> 
> this is a commission for @gool-sauce on tumblr!

Twisted Fate is a little drunk. Graves can tell from the way he flips coins across his knuckles. Scuffed up silver serpents, freshly swindled from the town they’re leaving behind. Nothing like a good haul to set the tone for the rest of the night. 

Graves is a little intoxicated too. He’s not shy about it. The whiskey had been flowing at the bar they’d been dealing at. Now it burns pleasantly in his chest.

Fate normally has something dancing between his fingers. Cards are the obvious choice, coins are the next best guess. Sometimes a stolen ring will show up as a placeholder. Right now his fingers are especially lively, flipping a coin with practiced ease. Alcohol puts the energy into his movements.  _ It’s hypnotizing, _ Graves thinks. He’s tried to do it before—Fate’s tried to teach him—but his own hands are too large and clumsy for that kind of thing.

“What’re you gonna do with your share?” He asks, reaches forward to light his cigar in the cracked fireplace They’re roosting in an abandoned house for the night, a little beaten up and quite empty, but safe. By the time the authorities come running, spurred on by the townsfolk—sore losers—they will be long gone. It’s easy going. Once they resumed their partnership it was easy to fall back onto old habits. 

“A new pair of boots,” Fate tips his hat. “New waistcoat. Whatever the devil decides.” He says the last sentence slyly, tosses the silver serpent up into the air and catches it on the back of his hand. 

“Such a fancy fella, huh?” Graves pulls the large coin purse from his coat and sets it on the floor next to him. There’s hardly any furniture in this run down shack. Fate occupies the only chair and even that is flimsy and sinks too close to the ground. 

“I make do,” he grins. He flicks his coin towards Graves and it’s caught in his palm. Might be old but his reflexes are still sharp. “One drink please,” Fate orders teasingly. There’s a glow in his eyes. Something a little special.

He leans over lazily to dig through his pack. A warm fire could make even the barest shacks feel like a cozy home. He pulls out the bottles of alcohol, also freshly pilfered today. 

“Whiskey?” Graves examines both bottles. “Or more whiskey?” The drinks earlier have already smoothed his tongue and added more flavor into his tone. Feels almost how they used to be.

Fate pretends to think. He pushes the brim of his hat up and his smile is smoke. “Whiskey then.” 

Graves rolls one of the bottles across the floor, too comfortable to get up. He watches as the man uncaps it and takes a whiff. He echoes his movements, hefting his own bottle to admire the way the liquid shines in the firelight. 

“Nothin’ quite like drinkin’ with a friend,” he decides. “Reminds me of the good ol’ days.” In the flickering light the red in Fate’s cheeks is brought out. A little color. 

“You only say that cause you’re drunk. You wouldn’t be such a sap otherwise.” 

He rolls a crick out of his neck. “How d'ya know?” 

The man’s eyes glimmer. He strokes the bottom of his beard with two fingers. “Cause you’re rougher than a mountain range when you’re sober.”

Graves barks a laugh, loud in the small building. He waves his cigar. “And you’re more slippery than a snake normally—but look at you now—” His chuckle fades into sudden silence. He can’t remember the rest of his sentence. He stares at Fate’s face. He could probably picture him perfectly if he closed his eyes. Sure there are new lines across his forehead and round the corner of his eyes but age has treated him kindly. It probably helped that he didn’t spend a decade rotting away. 

Fate coughs once to break the spell, quiet. “Malcom.” He pulls his hat down low again to cover his eyes.

Graves shakes his head to clear it and takes a long drink of whiskey. “Let’s play a game.” 

Twisted Fate leans forward in his chair. He sets his bottle on the floor. “Thought you never had time for games.” 

A shrug. “I’m gettin’ guttered tonight, might as well have a good time.”

Fate considers him silently. There’s a card between his fingers now. 

“No cheatin’.” A boundary. Gotta be strict with these sorta things otherwise Fate will walk all over you. 

“No cheating?” Fate raises a shrewd eyebrow. “Neither of us play an honest game.” 

Another long draught of whiskey. “Tobias.” 

The name sparks some sort of emotion on Fate’s face. He looks away at the fire silently and for a moment Graves can’t tell if he’s made a mistake. The man is hard to read. That’s what makes him so good at dealing cards. That and his magic fingers of course. Malcom knows him better than most and even so he still struggles to read him.

“Let’s raise the stakes,” Fate speaks up. He’s almost got that same tone he has when spinning a ruse for a round of dirty poker. Or when he’s charming a crowd with his serpent’s tongue. Graves is not the kind of man to back down from a challenge.

“Oh yeah?” He bites down on the stump of his cigar. Can’t smoke for too long indoors, Fate will begin to complain about the smell.

His partner grabs the neck of his bottle and takes a long drink. Good liquor will steel the nerves, certainly. A card flips carefully between his fingers. “Every round the loser takes somethin’ off.” 

He blinks at that. “Somethin’  _ off?”  _ He laughs until he coughs, crushes the lit end of his cigar against the hearth. “What are you playin’ at? Really are sloshed, huh?” 

Fate laughs too, quietly under his breath. “I ‘seen it played a long time ago, over a game of aces.” 

Graves wonders what the story is behind that was. Has Fate done it before? He looks for the answer in his face but it gives away nothing. Not even his fingers tell him anything, mechanically turning a card over and over and over again.

“Fine then.” He sits up a little straighter and shakes the last vestiges of moderation off his shoulders. “It’ll be a nice change of pace to see you without your hat.” 

Fate chuckles as he produces a deck of cards from his coat. “If I were you, I'd be glad the room is warm.” 

The game is simple. A single deck of cards is evenly split into two halves, each with two aces, one red, one black. Both of them take turns revealing cards, one by one until someone finds an ace. If the ace is red, during the next card reveal the lower card wins. If the ace is black, then the higher card wins. If an ace is revealed after an ace then that is an automatic victory. Once two aces have been drawn in one deck then both players shuffle their cards. Fate explains the rules quickly. They both know this game at least. It’s something commonly played by children. 

“How many clothes you got on?” Malcom drawls. “Wanna know how many rounds I need to win.”

“Never played a fair game in my life.” Fate taunts as he deals out the cards. He’s abandoned the rickety chair to sit cross legged in front of Graves and the rapidfire movement as he snaps cards back and forth is mesmerizing. “You won’t get to find out.”

“No cheatin’.” There’s ruddy color on both of their faces. Could blame it on the heat or the alcohol or something better. 

“Don’t need to cheat on this one. All in the luck of the draw.”

The first ace that shows up is red. Graves pulls an eight and scowls as Fate draws a three.

“Dirty handed. Pullin’ tricks already.” he grumbles sourly as he takes off his beaten up cape. Too hot anyway for the damn thing.

Fate’s slithering smile widens. “I ain’t,” he reassures. 

Graves looks him in the eyes and knows he’s telling the truth. He takes a swill of whiskey and shuffles his deck.

The next round goes to Graves. He watches as Fate silently folds up his fancy coat and sets it aside neatly. Looks like rich style, all soft and well-kept. How did they end up around each other in the first place? The thrill of a good steal probably. 

“Ain’t so cocky?” He asks. 

His partner takes a drink. His red waistcoat is embroidered with gold stitching and it catches the firelight. “Just you wait.” 

So it continues. Round after round as the fireplace continues to crackle and their bottles continue to empty. Graves loses three bitter rounds in a row and takes off both gloves and his belt. Twisted Fate sets his left boot down next to his coat only to immediately lose his right one during the next round. Graves starts trying to count his cards like he knows Fate must be doing. Maybe he can figure out the odds of pulling an ace. Alcohol makes his memory foggy. The room is too damn hot and he swears while wrestling with the straps on his leg armor. 

The two of them flip cards like clockwork. Graves falls into another grievous losing streak and loses both his shoes as well as one of his socks. Fate ducks under his throw when he tosses it at him. 

“It’s all rigged,” he scoffs. 

“You had more on than me anyway, Malcom,” Tobias’s eyes glitter playfully. 

Graves points his cigar at him. “Oh you were counting?  _ Tobias.”  _ He shuffles his deck again.

It’s easy to see how Fate’s face goes even more red now. “I threw away that name a long time ago”

Graves draws an ace. It’s black. He waits for Fate to show his card. It is a four and he sees the way his shoulders hunch, no longer hidden in the seams of his coat. 

“Funny you took the name Fate when you’re someone who relies so much on luck.” He flips his card to reveal a ten.

“Yes, well—” Fate peels off one of his socks and flings it at Graves. “That’s where the  _ Twisted  _ part comes in.” He shuffles his cards in an instant, practically magic. 

“Twisted,” Graves repeats. “You come up with that one yourself?”

“And if I did?” 

Graves laughs, reveals a card and shakes his head. “If you did I’d tell you to stick to dealing cards and swindlin’ cause naming things ain’t your strong suite.” 

Fate rolls his eyes good naturedly. “I reckon it ain’t yours either.” He tips his head towards Malcom’s shotgun, laying not too far away. Still in reach should some danger ambush them tonight. “From Destiny to  _ New  _ Destiny.” He flips a red ace and smiles, as if Fate knows that there’s a winning card in store for him.

“Quit grinnin’ like a fool.” Graves flips his card. His own red ace. “Maybe some of your fortune’s rubbed off on me after all this time.” 

Fate flips his card. It’s a two. He sighs under his breath and Graves basks in his victory. 

He wins the next round too. Fate coils up his belt and sets it gently on his coat. Graves gloats until he loses his last sock afterwards. It’s not so hot in their hideaway anymore. 

“Gettin’ nervous?” He asks Fate. “Can’t card trick your way outta this one.”

Still the man has this mask of cunning composure. It’s slipped around the edges however, spurred on by drunken emotions. His fingers are too energetic. They constantly drag up the side of Fate’s deck. His gaze is too bright.

“I won’t need to,” he says cooly.

But the next round Graves wins too. He laughs again, louder this time. “Not much left.” 

The tips of Fate’s ears are very red. He takes off his waistcoat with extra care and waves his hand idly. “That’s enough losing. Wanted to give you a fighting chance.” 

They’re in the same boat now, Graves thinks. Only a shirt and pants and what’s beneath it left. Except Fate still has that  _ blasted  _ hat on his head. He will need to win one more round to even the score. 

Graves shuffles his cards and they begin a new round. There’s an eagerness in the way Fate flips his cards that he hasn’t seen before. He reveals the ace—red again and Fate lays out a two with a mile long smirk. 

“It’s all in the cards.”

Graves turns his own card over. Black ace. He has the pleasure of watching as Fate’s mocking smile vanishes into disbelief. Roars with laughter till there’s tears in his eyes and knocks over his bottle in the process. Thankfully the container is nearly empty.

“What are you gonna take off?” He teases. “Do I get to see the rest of your pretty face?” 

Fate sets his jaw, sour now. He unbuttons his white shirt slowly, until eventually he sits shirtless and red faced in front of him. The hair on his chest is sparse and there are plenty of scars. 

“Shuffle,” he says.

Graves does. The air in the room is thick. Maybe the cigar smoke is still drifting through the corners of the hideout. 

“I’m gonna win this one too.” He likes poking at Fate like this. It’s nice to see him without his constant cunning. For once he is not in a position to pull Malcom’s strings. 

“You won’t.”

Graves has half a mind to suspect he might be cheating because the next ace is so immediate and the result so sudden. He grabs his shirt by the collar and pulls it over his head. Fate’s looking at him, still and strange. 

“What’s that one from?” He asks, uncharacteristically serious as he points to a long scar that spans from his left pec to his ribs.

“Locker,” Graves explains gruffly. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about it. “A lotta years I’d prefer to leave behind.”

Fate nods. He flips his card and for a moment it dances across his fingers. “Feel like quittin’?” He asks unexpectedly. It’s a taunt but the way he says it makes it sound—off. Being all muddy with his words again. A little serpentine. 

“Y’know I’m too stubborn for that.” 

His partner chuckles. “I know. You’re still gonna get me killed one day.”

Graves shows his card. They don’t find an ace for a while and once they do he loses. He bites down hard on his cigar before he stumbles to his feet, knees creaking and using the wall for support. Cheap whiskey has chipped away at his balance and his inhibitions. Graves stares Fate in the eye as he takes his pants off. The room is warm but even so there are goosebumps on his skin when he sits back down in only his underwear.

“One piece left, Tobias,” he goads. “Reckon you might be enjoyin’ the view.” 

The man looks at the fire again. It’s burned low. Neither of them have put any particular attention into trying to keep it from burning out. 

“Might be,” he agrees finally. He plucks a card off the top of his deck and reveals it. An ace of hearts. Graves is acutely aware of the short distance between them. It’s not like they haven’t fooled around before. Years in the past Graves would find his mouth on Fate’s and the night would carry them away. Not since Bilgewater, however. After they reconciled they’ve been cautious. 

“There ain’t no bed, sunshine,” Graves drawls, nodding his head towards the dusty and broken bed frame against the opposite wall. 

Fate shrugs. “Hasn’t stopped us before.” The ace of hearts flashes in his grip. He smiles one of his sly grins and suddenly their silly card game isn’t so important anymore. 

Graves closes the gap between them, scattering playing cards across the wooden floor. He pushes up the brim of Fate’s hat and kisses him. His mouth tastes like whiskey and even after so many years it feels familiar. A thought crosses his mind and he pulls away. 

“Did you plan this?” He asks against his lips. “This whole game, was it just to get my clothes off?” Graves might be thick headed, but he’s not  _ that  _ thick headed.

“An easy heist.” Fate kisses him again. His hands wander across Graves’ chest, exploring his scars. 

“Course you couldn’t be straightforward enough to ask me.” He tugs down the man’s pants and they rearrange themselves on the floor. Graves sits between his legs. “What, you really think I woulda said no?” 

Fate doesn't answer so Graves reaches up and snatches his hat off his head. “Tobias.” He isn’t known for his bravery. 

“I left that name behind years ago,” Fate sighs. “No one calls me that.” 

“Right,” Malcom sets the hat aside with more care than it probably deserves. “Everyone knows you as  _ ‘The Magnificent Twisted Fate.’”  _ He shuffles backwards and lies down till he’s propped up between the man’s thighs. He pulls the front of his dark underwear down. “I’ll be the only one to call you Tobias.” 

The dying firelight sets the room alive with warmth and soft light. For a second Graves admires how handsome he is. Time has shown Fate generosity. His jawline is sharp beneath his beard and his eyes promise something unspoken. Graves shifts his sights to Fate’s cock, half hard from arousal already. He takes him into his mouth and he can hear Tobias suck in a sharp breath above him. A huff and he hunches over Graves’ head.

_ “Malcom—”  _ he gasps, rich voice cracking. 

Graves pays special attention to the way his voice breaks while he works his mouth over his cock. Sure it may have been a while but it’s easy to find a rhythm that leaves Fate breathless. Maybe it’s something that you can’t really forget. His touch is relentless on the man’s body and his own cock is stiff against the floor. Fate’s fingers root in his short hair and tender pain prickles at his scalp.

Without warning Malcom’s mouth floods with salt as Tobias comes. He swallows it down easily, used to do it all the time. Some things you just don’t forget. He pulls off of Tobias’ cock and wipes his mouth. 

“Easy.” Their eyes meet and blue eyes flash with heat. Fate tugs him up next to him, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He reaches down into Graves’ underwear and wraps his wicked fingers around him. Graves’ groan rumbles heavy in his throat. Could be the age or the alcohol but it doesn’t take him long to find release either. Or maybe Fate is just better at this than he remembers. Downright magical after all. 

Either way they lie together on the hard floor, both of them catching their breath. Graves knows he’ll regret this tomorrow when his back aches, but the room is still cozy and Tobias is still so pretty. They might have more scars and a fresh decade under their belts, but some things will never change. 

Tobias will continue to wear rich hats and spin deceit across his knuckles. Malcom will continue to scheme with him. They are partners in crime after all. Two cards cut from the same deck. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is @no-shxme. i have comms (ko-fi and regular) open there. also my ask box is always open if you ever feel like dropping some thoughts. don’t be shy! ;)  
ty for kudos and comments and etc. i try and respond to every comment, your support means a ton to me!


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